


Asphyxiation

by Autobratty



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Mentions of Death, sadfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-02-26
Packaged: 2019-11-05 22:53:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17927921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Autobratty/pseuds/Autobratty
Summary: Ratchet was dying. He was dying, and there was nothing Drift could do about it.





	Asphyxiation

**Author's Note:**

> _Oh, I’m drowning_  
>  _Hope has left me shattered_  
>  _Choking back my longing for shed tears_  
>  _So strangulated by my lonesome fears_  
>  _Please don't worry too much, it only hurts when I breathe_  
>  _This only hurts every time I breathe_  
>  (Atreyu, “Someone’s Standing On My Chest”)

Ratchet was dying. He was dying, and there was nothing Drift could do about it. 

The swordsmech held his conjunx endura close. Death was imminent, and Ratchet insisted that he’d rather spend his last days going about business as usual rather than be on bedrest, hooked up to monitors as his former colleagues tried to prolong his life by a few days. 

His head pressed against the glass panel on Ratchet’s chest, Drift could hear the medic’s spark spinning - far slower than it should be. They both knew the end was coming soon. Drift had spent so much of his life alone, always chasing after something he could never keep for long: belonging. Every time it seemed he had a grip on it and felt like he was where he should be, it slipped through his fingers. Gasket and his group of misfits. Megatron and the Decepticon Cause. Wing and the Circle of Light. Kup and the Wreckers. Rodimus and the Lost Light. And finally, New Cybertron and his conjunx endura, Ratchet, who’d saved his life before it had even really begun.

For the first time, he’d felt a lasting sense of belonging, of rightness, of home. But in a matter of days - maybe hours - he’d lose everything, all over again. He wasn’t sure if his spark would be able to take it. When Ratchet was diagnosed, the medic had let out a long sigh, as if he’d been holding it in forever, but all he said was, “Bugger.” Drift had stiffened, but hadn’t said a word until the two were in private. As soon as the door to their habitation block closed behind them, Drift’s field exploded into a maelstrom of anguish, and he fell to his knees. He wrapped both arms around on of Ratchet’s legs, sobbing uncontrollably. 

“Aw, kid…” Ratchet said softly, placing a hand on Drift’s head. He stroked his conjunx’s helm finials gently, trying to calm him down. The white mech just cried harder, burying his face against Ratchet’s plating. Eventually, Ratchet crouched down as well, not without strenuous effort, and drew his weeping conjunx into his arms. 

Although the gesture was meant to comfort, Drift only seemed to cry harder. His firm grip left shallow dents in Ratchet’s softening plating. On his part, Ratchet didn’t mind - some Cybertronians seemed like they could go on forever, but the medic had come to terms with death long before he’d been dying. He knew that with all the stress he put on his body as a field medic, it was inevitable. What he hadn’t planned on was to have someone so troubled by his death that they seemed they couldn’t live without him. 

“C’mon, Drift,” he said softly, trying to coax his love to his feet and towards their room. Although he continued crying, Drift struggled to his feet. Despite his grief-weakened state, he was doing most of the guiding, supporting his fragile conjunx. When they got to the berthroom, they shared their sparks one last time.


End file.
